Chryed Worried
by Mushroom Hair
Summary: of Walford
1. Chapter 1

**_Not sure where I'm going with this but I hope you enjoy it. As ever, with love. :) xxxx_**

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"_Oh hello."_

Hearing Sam's bored, haughty greeting, Christian smiled and stopped fiddling with a leaf from the hedge, turning to lean against the brick gatepost, folding his arm across his chest and supporting his elbow on his wrist.

"Hiya biatch. How are you?"

"_I'm fabulous. This goes without saying. If you've called for a chat, Ste's out. He says he's gone to mixed martial arts but I suspect he's at cupcake making for beginners at the church hall, belly on him. I'll get him to ring you, if I remember."_

"You could talk to me…" The plea in his voice surprised Christian and he added quickly, "…if you're not too busy designing a pejazzle."

"_I'm watching Come Dine with Me. Oh hang on."_

Down the line came the sound of fumbling, a click of plastic, someone saying, 'for the Tarte au Citron alone, I give Mike a….' cut off as the television muted so he would never know the score and a small dog whining.

"_Oh shut up Uhura, you silly cow. Here, sit back down. Hello. What do you want?"_

"Me or Uhura? I was wondering what you've been up to, haven't spoken to you in ages."

"_Usual. Missed you at Chucky's sexybition. It was a riot. Sculptures fashioned from ordure. Al turned up in a suit made of peacock feathers, cost three thousand pounds and he leant on an exhibit and got it covered in shit. Ha! I died. I'm not sure I'm talking to you anyway."_

"Did he? The arse. Why aren't you talking to me, what have I done?"

A Minute Mart carrier bag fluttered over from the square, turning in gymnastic arcs until it flapped like a fish in the gutter. Christian felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise in the cool night breeze.

"_I know we can't come, though how you could possibly THINK of getting married without me and Ste there, well, me anyway, is beyond me. But an invite might have been nice."_

Confused, Christian frowned.

"You should have got one. Perhaps the post is up the shitter. Where is it you're going again?" He sensed the hesitation while Sam considered inventing a glamorous location to make him jealous.

"_Eastbourne, with the old dear. She's been banging on about it for months, wants to put flowers on Dad's grave. I might consider putting her off, if you were getting married in a castle, or the Ritz. An East End restaurant? That's…novel."_

"It's the family business. Sy's helping his brother to run it."

"_Whatever happened to your plans of being carried in by semi naked hotties and serenaded by trannies in the seediest dive you could find?"_

Unable to recall any such thing, Christian laughed.

"How long ago did I say that? I bet I was pissed."

"_Oh years ago. When you thought you were in love with that boy from New Zealand. Until you had him and decided he was boring and you couldn't possibly spend the rest of your life with someone whose knob was shaped like a potato."_

Christian racked his brains, trying to find a memory of a face or a name or a potato shaped knob, suddenly filled with guilt when a vision of tearstained cheeks and a plaintive cry of, 'but you said you loved me!' burst into his mind.

"Blake! Shit, I was such a bastard."

"_Still are, darling! Still are!" _Sam trilled. "_Anyway, I thought the delectable Syed's family loathed you with a passion so strong it made them grow snakes for hair and steam pour from every orifice? How come they're letting you use their glamorous venue for the wedding no one ever believed would happen?"_

'They were so wrong!' Christian mused gleefully, warmed by the excited anticipation of the commitment he and Syed were about to make.

"We're well matey now. His mum went through a hard time, realised she was wrong to be so vile. She's helping me plan the wedding. Well, I say helping, more trying to completely take over. I keep having to get Sy to tell her off."

"_He must be so thrilled." _Sam responded, sarcasm dripping from every word. "_Remember you're marrying him, not her. How is the delicious Syed? Changed his mind about a foursome yet?"_

"No! And neither have I. He's…" Pausing, Christian tried to decide what to say, realising he had no idea, that they hardly seemed to spend any time together. He knew something was bothering him, from the dark dart of Syed's eyes whenever he tried to fathom the reason behind his quietness, knew he sounded like a broken record the amount of times he had asked if there was anything wrong. "..Okay. Stressed, always working. He wants to make everything a success…"

"_He's probably having an affair. Uhura! Don't lick your faff and then me, you shameless little madam…"_

"Don't be daft. Sy's not like that."

"_He's a man, isn't he? If you're hanging round with mommy dearest discussing buttonholes and pearlescent balloons, who knows what he's up to? I bet it's that gorgeous tart he knew at school."_

"Michael? He'd have a job. He's in Cuba. Anyway he's all loved up."

"_Still with that speccy, mysterious one? All hidden depths and no doubt goes like a train… Him then."_

"I think he's working up north somewhere. Honestly, Sam, it isn't that. Something's troubling him though…"

"_Cold feet? Incurable illness? Realised he's not gay after all? Wind? The thought of an eternity having to share a bathroom with you?"_

"Fuck off Sam."

"_See! I told you to wait until Ste got back. Seriously, sweetie, everyone gets weird before a wedding. I was a gibbering mess before mine and Steve's. Remember, I took against the cake so violently I nearly called the whole thing off?"_

"God yes. I had to talk you down."

"_I ask you, what was so difficult about angel's wings in magenta icing? It'll be fabulous. No, actually it won't, because I won't be there. It'll be distinctly average. Have we done now? I'm sure talking to me has been useful for you."_

Christian shook his head, grinning with amusement, aware that Sam had done all he possibly could to be of no use at all.

"You're a miracle worker. I'll miss you being there."

"_Of course you will, why wouldn't you? You'd better do something later. I want some return on our electronic potato peeler. Shit, given it away. Love you, muscles! Ciao! Ciao! Sod off!"_

"We will. Love you too. Say hi to Ste from me."

"_Yes. Yes."_

The line went dead. Christian looked at the screen and then towards the windows of the flat. Fingers of light slivered through the slats of the blind, spilling out onto the front garden, warm, inviting, homely, until a shadow flitted through them, briefly hiding the welcome beacon.

'Syed the shadow…' He felt a little twist of worry tightening at his throat and scrolled through his contacts to find another number.


	2. Chapter 2

"_Hello matey! This is a lovely surprise. Can you hear me? I've got a massive cigar!"_

"I'm sure you have Michael."

Christian pressed the phone closer to his ear, struggling to hear above the background chatter of a lively club and the strains of a jazz band.

"_I can't light it, because there's a smoking ban here too. Do you think it was rolled on the thighs of a virgin? I hope it was a male virgin. How are you? How's Syed? Are you excited?"_

"Yes!"

'Well I am.' Christian thought sadly. 'Hard to tell if Sy is.'

"You sound excited too. Are you having a good time?"

"_I'm rat arsed on Daiquiri… Hang on; I'll take you outside with me. Ooh err."_

Waiting, imagining Michael pushing through a crowd and emerging into the hot city street, Christian shivered, sensing the oncoming winter, smelling it above the car fumes and the sweet scent of the privet hedge beside him.

"_That's better…"_

There was a further pause while Michael searched for a lighter followed by a deep inhalation and a fit of coughing.

"_Fuck that's rank." _He gasped, adding croakily. "_How's everything going?"_

"Good! Sy's mum's being a bit of a nightmare with the arrangements, but I'm holding my own."

"_Are you? Oh you poor thing." _Michael giggled. _"The formidable Mrs Masood. Miracle she's on board."_

"Yes." Christian agreed. "It bloody is. How've you been doing? How's Rory?"

"_Aw, he's lovely, thank you. He's lecturing in York today, then all points north or else he'd have been at your wedding."_

"Leching?" Christian grinned, deliberately mishearing.

"_Steady! He'd better not be. Lecturing. He's being brainy and I'm posing in skimpy briefs."_

"Both doing what you're best at then. Are you being good?"

"_I'm always good. There's a particularly cute boy who's been checking out my arse, he's going to be gutted when he gets nowhere near it. How's Syed?"_

"Okay. Busy with work and wheeler dealing. You haven't spoken to him then?"

"_I'm going to sit on this step. Whoa, spinny. Wheeler dealing? He used to try to do that at school with his dinner money. I hope he's got better at it. No, I've called once or twice but I think I caught him at a bad time. He's helping Tam at the Arjee isn't he?"_

"Yeah. I hardly see him. We've got Yas at the minute too, so what with wedding planning, work and looking after her, it's been full on."

"_I can imagine! Worth it though. Oh cock it, I wish we could be there. We're sending something huge that I got told off about. It's marvellously impractical. Aargh, I want to tell you what it is. I'm crap at secrets. Not like Syed."_

Christian's sudden tension seemed to crackle through the atmosphere, transmitting itself like a sonar squeak, crossing continents in seconds.

"_Christian? What's up?"_

"Nothing... Something. I'm a bit concerned about him. He's really quiet, distant. Oh don't listen to me, we're all tired."

"_Gone all withdrawn and snappy? Eyes look wrong?"_

"Yep. That's the kind of thing. I've tried cheering him up. Got his family round for a film night."

Michael snorted.

"_I'm not sure that would help. What did you watch? Predator?"_

"Ha! Maybe we should have. Oh, I don't know. Now I'm getting arsey with him."

"_I used to kick footballs at his head when he had a nark on. Never worked. Is it pre-wedding jitters? You know him better than anyone, Christian. He loves you. You're getting married. Be happy."_

"We are, aren't we?" Brightening slightly, Christian felt his enthusiasm, dampened by Syed's strange mood, starting to resurrect, slowly and tentatively.

"_Go and kick a football at his head. See if you have better luck. Make sure you ring us and send us loads of pics. See you when I get back?"_

"Definitely. Don't you flirt with Sy. He'll be my husband then."

"_He will indeed. Ow! Shit, I'm being bitten to bits by mosquitos. Must be because I'm so succulent… I'll try and ring him again, but if he won't tell you what's wrong he sure as hell won't tell me. Take care, you. Give Syed a big snog from me."_

"I will. Love to Rory. See you soon Michael."

As Christian slipped his phone into his back pocket, the front door opened and he smiled tightly.

"Hey."

"Hey. What are you doing out here? You'll get cold."

Syed hunched his shoulders seeming to look through Christian, far away into a sea of trouble.

"Phoning some people."

"You could have done that indoors."

"Thought I'd give you space to stew."

Christian bit his lip, wishing he hadn't said anything when he saw Syed shift uncomfortably, a beaten look clouding his features.

"Christian…"

"What?"

"Nothing. Are you coming in?"

"Sure. I thought you were going to bed?"

Passing him in the hallway, Christian briefly touched the back of Syed's hair, a tender gesture, wishing he could release all the pent up tension gnarled inside of him, take it into his own body, deal with it for him and disperse it, blowing it away like rainbow bubbles on the wind.

"Yas woke up. Who were you talking to?"

"Sam and then Michael. They send their love."

Syed followed him inside. Picking up the keys from the bowl, he double locked the door to the flat behind him, making them secure, safe in their home. Sliding the bolt across, he caught his thumb on the metal, pinching the skin. Welcoming the pain that momentarily took his mind away from other woes; he carefully placed the keys down.

"Aw. That's nice. How are they?"

"Good." Christian busied himself, collecting up glasses and putting them quietly and neatly into the sink. "Gutted they can't make it. Michael was pissed."

"Was he?"

"Yes he was."

A silence hung between them, broken only by Christian turning on the water full force, watching as the suds foamed around his hands, remembering blood on a cut finger, an electrical spark that left him breathless.

"Oh. I'll get to bed then."

"You do that."

Syed hesitated in the doorway, gazing longingly at the muscular curve of Christian's back as he methodically scoured and stacked. He yearned to wrap his arms around him, collapse weeping, tell him everything, the whole sorry mess. He opened his mouth to speak, confess and stopped, vowing to make it all better, to pay, somehow, for the wedding Christian deserved.

"I will." His voice cracked but Christian, tipping the water down the plughole, didn't hear.

"I'll be in shortly."

"Don't call me shortly…" Syed laughed feebly. "I'll check on Yas."


	3. Chapter 3

In the glow from the fairy toadstool nightlight, Syed studied his daughter's sleeping face. On her back, one fist clenched tightly, she frowned at something in her dream.

"Not enough shoes." Syed whispered, quietly kneeling on the floor and resting his arms on the side of her cot. "Or your daddies won't buy you a pony." He thought of the wad of notes his mother had thrust upon him and groaned, wanting to hurl them from the roof of the pub, or set fire to them and dance around the flaking remains, finally free. He regulated his breathing, attempting to stop the sick racing of his pulse that seemed to be the norm of late, all food tasting like dust to him, no pleasure in anything.

"A good return. All I need. What shall I invest in Yas? Any ideas?"

She snuffled and shifted under the blanket, pursing her lips to form a small o.

"Iggle Piggle it is. Buy high, sell low…I'm in an awful mess…"

He heard the sounds, leaking through the walls, of Christian preparing for bed. The flushing of the toilet, the whirr of an electronic toothbrush, a gargle and spit, the clink of a moisturiser pot going down on the glass shelf. Familiar noises of a shared life, going on, day in, day out and he began to cry, fat wet tears dripping onto Yasmin's arm.

She half opened one eye and stared knowingly at him while he patted at the shining drops and Syed gasped back a sob, stifling it by biting hard on his knuckles.

"Go to sleep darling. Daddy's silly. Daddy's going to try not to ruin everyone's life…"

He pulled the covers up to her neck, tucking her in and got stiffly to his feet, wiping his eyes roughly with the back of his hand.

Stealthily passing their bedroom, he caught a glimpse of Christian in the full-length mirror, flexing his biceps, fiddling with his hair, bending forward to peer at his reflection and rub at a frown line on his forehead.

Syed turned on a side light in the darkened living room and sat at the table. He nervously opened and closed his laptop, wondering if he turned it on and studied the figures again, they would somehow have miraculously changed, would all add up and a big sign would burst onto the screen with a fanfare of trumpets, flashing 'bonus!' and 'winner!' in pink sparkly letters.

The business card in his pocket dug into his leg like a jab of guilt, seemed to burn red-hot, vibrate with temptation, bringing memories of a former life rushing into Syed's brain. He could almost feel the cloth of his expensive suits, transported to the loud, cutthroat camaraderie, the addictive buzz as deals were sealed, profits made. The dissembling and the swagger coating him like a second skin, a protective armour hiding his true self from the world and it was as if it were beginning to regrow, covering him like an exoskeleton, masking all his raw truth that Christian had so doggedly revealed, chipping it away with his unswerving love.

He glared at the corner of a wedding magazine, the corner jutting out from beneath his laptop, a skewed photo of two men, beaming at the camera, confetti in their hair, smiles unbearably smug, while he unconsciously gripped at the edge of a piece of paper, digging his nails in. Lifting it, he saw Christian's writing, interspersed with his mother's, many crossings out, fragments of fabric stapled to the top. He read the list, his stomach churning at the prices next to each item and resisted the urge to screw it up and hurl it at the window, until it became unbearable, impossible to resist and his head pounded with blood, making a high-pitched whine sing in his ears. With a broad sweep, he sent the magazines, the mood boards, the lists and the laptop, crashing to the ground.

Tensing, he covered his head with his hands, slumping down, trying to become as small as possible, expecting a wail from Yasmin's room, for Christian to appear, outraged and concerned and ask him what the fuck was going on. Yet neither happened, the clock kept ticking, the digital numbers on the microwave flicked over, showing him another second of his life had passed, a car went by, headlights swooping across the room, flooding it briefly, like a lighthouse warning of rough seas ahead and somewhere, down an alley, a dog barked four times.


	4. Chapter 4

"No improvement at all?"

Christian kicked at the duvet, trying to get it to cover his cold feet.

"_She was telling me I was doing everything wrong today, so I suppose that's good. How are you?"_

Smiling fondly at the image of his mother imperiously bossing his sister around, Christian formulated an answer, unsure what the truth was or if there was a word for a mixture of elation and panic.

'Elanic, panated…'

"Fine." He answered. "I think me and Zainab have got all the bases covered now."

Jane laughed.

"_You and Zainab! Bloody hell Christian. How has this happened?"_

"Buggered if I know. We seem to have developed a bond, increased by a shared interest in table linen."

"_Amazing. I can hardly hear you. This line's bad. Is Syed looking forward to it?"_

Christian pulled the duvet over his head, exposing his feet again, to muffle his voice.

"Is this better? I can't be too loud; I don't want to wake Yasmin."

"_Aw bless her. She looked adorable in the last video you sent. I'm so happy for you Christian, finally getting the family you always dreamed of…"_

He could tell she was beginning to well up, filled with sentimentality and he struggled not to join her.

"She's a little cutie, when she's not being a whingeing little madam. When's Bobby coming to see you?"

"_Soon, I hope. I miss him so much."_

She started to snivel and Christian wanted to reach through the phone and sweep her into the biggest hug.

"Oh, sis! He misses you too. Shall we change the subject? Don't want to waste the call blubbing at each other."

Christian grimaced, holding the phone away from his ear as she blew her nose with such force he was convinced he didn't need a phone line to hear it. As he did, he started at the crashing sound from the living room, immediately making to leap out of bed to see what was going on. When there was no cry from Yasmin's room and no shout of distress from Syed, he frowned and lay back down.

"_Are you still there, Christian?"_

"Yep. Still here."

"_You didn't say. Is Syed excited?"_

"Counting the days." He answered her question, hoping it was true. "He's really busy helping out at the Arjee when he's not buying and selling stock. My entrepreneur husband!"

"_He's not messing you around is he, Christian? Blowing hot and cold?"_

"Of course not!" Christian wished he hadn't responded so snappily, adding to himself sadly that, of late, Syed didn't blow much at all. "He's got a lot on."

"_Mind he doesn't. You would say if there was something wrong?"_

"Yes." Christian lied, struck by how hard it could sometimes be to share feelings and worries to those you loved best, in case it brought them down too. Holding on to the insight, a glimmer of understanding that made him worry for Syed more, he vowed to be patient, kinder, let Syed tell him whatever it was that had made him mope around with a face like a wet market day, in his own good time. "We'll save you a piece of cake."

"_You'd better. Oh! Before I go, what's Lucy's boyfriend like?"_

"Quite fit."

"_I meant his personality. Typical. Love you."_

"Aw, love you too. Night night…"

Christian laid his phone onto the bedside table and undid his watch, putting it neatly alongside. He turned off his lamp; leaving Syed's on, to guide him safely across the room.

'Should you ever decide to stop chucking things about and come and join me…" He closed his eyes, not expecting sleep to come. Gradually, the stresses of the evening ebbed away and he grew drowsy, gave up the fight to stay awake, to be there if Syed wanted to share whatever troubled him, and drifted away.

Eventually, Syed uncurled and surveyed the mess on the floor around him, motionless and numb. He stood with difficulty, his limbs heavy with tiredness and picked up the laptop, shaking it, relieved when there was no ominous rattle, not daring to switch it on, terrified it might no longer work. He stacked all the marriage paraphernalia in a neat pile, smoothing out the paper he had nearly destroyed, with tender care. As he gave it a final brush, he noticed a love heart, complete with arrow, doodled at the top, with the message; 'Christian loves Syed because he is fab!' and underneath, 'Mr Clarke Masood.' Syed smiled and kissed the end of his finger, pressing it onto the heart, recognising a faint fluttering in his soul as happiness.

Syed undressed, making every effort not to wake a sleeping Christian. He lifted the duvet and crept in beside him, insinuating himself further across the mattress, getting as close as he could.

Christian stirred and muttered, "Sugared almonds" and Syed touched his chest, stealing his warmth.

"Sugared almonds, we so need them, they're essential…" Syed murmured. "…I love you more than I can say and I've fucked up. I wanted to make the money for us, be a success, make something of myself, make everyone proud and I'm getting deeper and deeper in shit, I don't know how to stop. You might not want me when you know…Who am I kidding, of course you will. You always will. I'm scared Christian, so very scared…" He stopped talking abruptly as Christian's eyelids flickered and he blinked, dragging himself from slumber.

"What?"

"Nothing." Syed stroked his jaw and kissed him.

"Did you drop something?"

"Only my trousers."

Christian raised an eyebrow and giggled.

"Oh yes?"

Nodding, Syed trailed his hand down, along Christian's throat across his chest, down, under the covers to his groin and watched his face light with pleasure.

"Oh yes. Sorry I was miserable tonight."

"It's okay, mard arse. Lovely arse. Sexy, sexy. Mmm…"

Long, deep kisses silenced him, soft caresses drove all cares away, heat and passion salved their wounds and in the moment, that they wished would last forever, nothing mattered except love.

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_**Thank you for reading. :) Hope you liked it. Roll on wedding week! :D xxxx**_


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